Finale (43 page)
Authors: Becca Fitzpatrick
“Good work, Nora. Oh, and you might like to know we’ve got Pepper in custody and we’re dealing with him. He claims you put him up to stealing the feathers, but I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear it. One last thing. Consider this a thank-you of sorts: Go for a nice, clean cut through the middle of the mark on your wrist,” he said, sawing his own wrist with the side of his hand in demonstration.
“What?”
A knowing smile. “For once, just trust me.”
And he was gone.
I leaned back against a tree, trying to slow the world long enough to make sense of it. Dante, dead. Devilcraft, demolished. The war, nonexistent. My oath, fulfilled. And Scott. Oh, Scott. How would I tell Vee? How would I help her get through the loss, the heartache, the despair? Down the road, how would I encourage her to move on, when I had no such plans for myself? Trying to replace Patch—even trying to find happiness, however small, with someone else—would be a lie. I was Nephilim now, blessed to live forever, cursed to do so without Patch.
Footsteps rustled ahead, cutting through the grass, a familiar sound. I stiffened, poised to attack, as a dark outline emerged through the fog. The figure’s eyes raked the ground, clearly hunting for something. He crouched at every body, inspecting it with a hurried fervor, then kicked it aside with an impatient curse.
“Patch?”
Hunched over a decaying body, he froze. His head whipped up, his eyes narrowing, as if disbelieving what he’d heard. His gaze locked with mine, and something undecipherable moved in his black eyes. Relief? Solace? Deliverance.
I ran in a frenzy the last several feet separating us and threw myself into his embrace, digging my fingers into his shirt, burying my face into his neck. “Let this be real. Let this be you. Don’t let me go. Don’t ever let me go.” I started crying freely. “I fought Dante. I killed him. But I couldn’t save Scott. He’s dead. Devilcraft is gone, but I failed Scott.”
Patch murmured soft sounds in my ear, but his hands shook where they held me. He guided me to sit on a stone bench, but he never released me, holding me as though he were afraid I’d drain through his fingers like sand. His eyes, weary and red, told me he’d been crying.
Keep talking,
I told myself.
Keep the dream going. Anything to keep Patch here.
“I saw Rixon.”
“He’s dead,” Patch said bluntly. “So are the rest of them. Dante released us from hell, but not before taking our oaths of loyalty and injecting us with a devilcraft prototype. It was the only way out. We left hell with it swimming in our veins, our lifeblo, our liod. When you destroyed devilcraft, every fallen angel being sustained by it died.”
It can’t be a dream. It must be, and at the same time, it’s too real.
His touch, so familiar, caused my heartbeat to soar and my blood to melt— I couldn’t fabricate such a forceful response to him in a dream.
“How did you survive?”
“I didn’t swear an oath to Dante, and I didn’t let him inject me with devilcraft. I possessed Rixon just long enough to escape hell. I didn’t trust Dante or devilcraft. I trusted
you
to finish them both off.”
“Oh, Patch,” I said, my voice trembling. “You were gone. I saw your motorcycle. You never came back. I thought—” My heart twisted, a deep ache expanding to fill my chest. “When I didn’t save your feather—” The loss and devastation crept inside me like a winter chill, relentless and numbing. I snuggled closer to Patch, fearing that he might vanish through my hands. I climbed onto his lap, sobbing into his chest.
Patch cradled me in his arms, rocking me.
Angel,
he murmured to my mind.
I’m right here. We’re together. It’s over, and we have each other.
Each other. Together. He’d come back to me; everything that mattered was right here. Patch was right here.
Drying my eyes with my sleeves, I pushed onto my knees and straddled his hips. I combed my fingers through his dark hair, locking his curls between my fingers and drawing him close.
“I want to be with you,” I said. “I need you close, Patch. I need all of you.”
I kissed him, frantic and bold, my mouth crushing forcefully to his. I pressed deeper, drowning in his taste. His hands tightened around my back, pulling me closer. I shaped my palms to his shoulders, to his arms, to his thighs, feeling his muscles work, so real and strong and alive. His mouth ground against mine, bright, needy pressure.
“I want to wake up with you every morning and fall asleep beside you each night,” Patch told me gravely. “I want to take care of you, cherish you, and love you in a way no other man ever could. I want to spoil you—every kiss, every touch, every thought, they all belong to you. I’ll make you happy. Every day, I’ll make you happy.” The antique, almost primitive band he held between his fingers caught the sunlight, glinting silver. “I found this ring shortly after I was banished from heaven. I kept it to remind myself of how endless my sentence was, how eternal one small choice can be. I’ve kept it a long time. I want you to have it. You broke my suffering. You’ve given me a new eternity. Be my girl, Nora. Be my everything.”
I bit my lip, snagging a smile that threatened to split my face. I checked the ground to make sure I wasn’t floating. “Patch?”
He scraped the rough edge of the ring on his palm, raising a thin trail of blood. “I swear to you, Nora Grey, on this day, from now and forever, to give myself to you. I am yours. My love, my body, my soul—I place in your possession and protection.” He held out the ring, a single offering, a binding promise.
“Patch,” I whispered.
“If I fail my cove fail mynant, my own misery and regret will be my endless punishment.” His eyes pinned mine, a stripped sincerity clear in his gaze.
But I won’t fail, Angel. I won’t fail you.
I accepted the ring, about to slice the edge across my palm the same way Patch had done. And then I remembered Basso’s cryptic admonition. Sliding the ring higher, I slashed the pencil-like marking on the inside of my wrist, which I’d been born with—a mark of my Nephilim heritage. Bright red blood smeared my skin. I fit my incision snugly against Patch’s hand, feeling a warm pins-and-needles sensation where our blood mingled.
“I swear to you, Patch, to take your love and cherish it. And in return, to give you my body and my heart—everything I possess, I give to you. I am yours. Wholly and completely. Love me. Protect me. Fulfill me. And I promise to do the same
.”
He pushed the ring onto my finger.
Patch jerked unexpectedly, as though powerful voltage had coursed through his body. “My hand,” he said, low. “My hand is—”
His eyes locked with mine. A slow burn of confusion filled his expression. “My hand is tingling where you mixed our blood.”
“You feel it,” I said, too scared to believe it might be true. Scared of raising my hopes. Terrified that the trick would fade, and his body would once again shut mine out.
No. This was Basso’s gift to me.
Patch, a fallen angel, could feel. All my kisses, every touch. My warmth, the depth of my response to him.
He made a sound that was trapped between a laugh and a groan. Amazement lit his eyes. “I feel you.” His hands roved up my arms, hastily exploring my skin, catching my face. He kissed me, hard. He shuddered with pleasure.
Patch scooped me into his arms, and I shrieked with joy. “Let’s get out of here,” he murmured, his eyes blazing with desire.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and nestled my head on the curve of his shoulder. His body was solid assurance, a warm counterpoint. And now he could feel me, too. A flush of anticipation burned under my skin.
This was it. Together. Forever. As we left it all behind, the sun warmed my back, lighting the way before us.
I knew of no better omen.
